


Tumble Dry Low

by soulless_lover



Series: The Road Trip [3]
Category: X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Condoms, F/M, Laundromat, Mirror Sex, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:23:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulless_lover/pseuds/soulless_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan and Rogue take a post-X3 road trip... and have to stop at the laundromat.</p><p>Written in 2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tumble Dry Low

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually the first fic in the Road Trip series (and is in a different verb tense), but after i got several requests for the backstory, i wrote a couple of prequels.

"Marie. Marie!"

"What?" Rogue looks up from the basketful of clothes she's digging out of the dryer and finds herself face-to-face with one of her g-strings. It's dangling from the end of Logan's finger, about three inches from the tip of her nose, and he's not looking too happy.

"What the flamin' hell is _this?_ " he demands, thrusting the little scrap of green satin at her face. He gives the panties a little shake, as if she hadn't already noticed they were there, and they dance obligingly.

"Underwear," she answers, closing the dryer door. "And Ah'd really appreciate it if ya didn't go wavin' 'em around like that." She dodges past him to a table and begins piling the clothes to be folded on it, trying to ignore the curious onlookers.

Logan, however, isn't easily dissuaded; he reappears beside her, the panties still dangling from his finger. "How come I've never seen 'em before? We've been on the road two weeks, just you an' me, an' I've seen you in just about everything we brought. So where'd these come from?"

She snatches the g-string from him, annoyed, and tucks it into the folded clothes. "Ah jus' bought 'em last night. We ain't been to a laundromat in two weeks, an' a lady _needs_ clean underwear, Logan."

He folds his big arms and raises a suspicious eyebrow. "You couldn't wash the ones ya got in the sink?"

"No detergent."

"So ya jus' bought a new pair. Uh huh. And now yer washin' 'em before ya even wear 'em."

Rogue throws the t-shirt she's folding into the basket and glares at her companion, eyes flashing. "Ah got sensitive skin. Gotta wash the extra dye out before Ah wear 'em or Ah'll get a rash. And if Ah get a rash, _you_ get no nookie!"

He looks mildly abashed for all of about three seconds. "That still don't explain the state of 'em."

Rogue rolls her eyes and goes back to folding clothes, her patience just about run out. "What the hell're you talkin' about?"

He plunges his hand into the freshly-folded clothes and unerringly locates the little g-string, digging it out to hold it in front of her face again. "That ain't underwear - that ain't hardly more'n a _nickel's worth_ o' material. An' if you just bought 'em, I'm guessin' ya dipped into our road-funds for 'em. Am I right?"

She bites her lower lip and blinks innocently up at him. "Well, Ah didn't take it outta your wallet..."

"I knew it!" He pushes her aside and starts digging through the small stacks of neatly-folded clothes. "How many more pairs are there? I had a good double-sawbuck in the right hip pocket o' my jeans, and now all I got's chump change!"

"Logan... Logan! People're _starin'_ at'cha, Logan... _Logan_!!"

"Dammit, girl, we needed that money fer gas! Instead, you went off an' bought yerself twenty dollars' worth o' dainties so small I could _floss_ with 'em! I swear, I'm gonna..."

She grabs him by the bicep and hauls him toward the small bathroom at the back of the laundromat, apologizing to patrons as she passes them; once she's got him in the single-person restroom, she locks the door and turns on him in a fury. "Ah _swear,_ Logan," she hisses in as fierce a whisper as she can manage, "if you don't calm down and quit yellin' about mah goddamn underwear, Ah will _so_ kick your hairy ass from here to Tallahassee!"

He blinks. God, but she looks good when she's all fired up like that. But still...! "You took _money_ outta my _pocket_ while I was _sleepin'_ and _snuck out_ to buy yerself _underwear_ , and now we don't _have_ that money fer _gas_ , and _yer_ pissed at _me?_ "

She narrows her eyes and backs him up against the wall, one finger poking at the exact center of his broad chest. "Well _maybe_ if you weren't _ruinin'_ every pair Ah got by _slicin'_ through the _strings_ with them _claws_ o' yours, tryin' to get 'em _off_ me faster, then _maybe_ Ah wouldn't _have_ to buy _new_ ones!"

He growls, low and deep, and grabs her by the shoulders; before she has time to think about it, his mouth is locked over hers, her fingers are knotted in his hair, and his hands are gripping her hips tight, pulling her against him. He tastes of cigars and the pancakes they had for breakfast, sweet and hot; his chest heaves as his breathing speeds up, pressing insistently against her soft breasts; one of his legs slides between hers, his muscular thigh rubbing at the crotch of her thin jeans, and she moans into his mouth.

She pushes him away suddenly, and before he can say anything, she drops to her knees and opens his belt buckle. He stares down at her, lost somewhere on the path between confusion and lust, and strokes a hand through her hair. "Darlin'..."

"Shush," she says, making quick work of the button and zipper on his jeans. "Let a lady apologize, why don'tcha?" And suddenly her tongue is licking up and down his hard length, her breath is ruffling the dark hair between his legs, and he's thinking he's pretty much inclined to let her apologize.

He rolls his head back against the wall, his hands threading through her long hair, his eyes drifting shut as the hot, wet feel of her mouth drives him into some kind of mad bliss. She relaxes and takes him as far down her throat as she can manage, swallowing around him; one of his hands slams into the wall behind him, as if he's trying to hold onto something; the big fingers in her hair grip almost painfully tight.

"Mmmmmm," she hums softly, and his hips buck violently at the vibration. She pulls back, her soft, swollen lips dancing over the tip of his cock in feather-light kisses, her tongue teasing the little slit. "Logan..."

He opens his dark, half-lidded eyes, and looks down at her; she's gazing up at him through her lashes, her innocent pink tongue doing very not-so-innocent things to his cock, her eyes full of pure unadulterated lust... and something in him snaps.

He hauls her to her feet, pressing his mouth to hers, and deftly unfastens the button of her jeans; she throws her arms around his neck and returns his kisses tenfold, rolling her hips into his hand. His strong fingers pull her zipper down and slip beneath the denim, stroking her through the wet satin of her panties. "Jesus," he growls against her lips, "wet already, aren'tcha?"

"Mmm-hmm," she answers, pushing against his hand, spreading her legs a little wider to give him better access.

He pulls her jeans and panties down roughly, his teeth nipping along the curve of her hip and thigh, then stands, turns her around, and bends her over the sink. "God, the things you do to me, girl..." He pushes her shirt up, licking a wet path along her spine, making her shiver; he reaches around her and slides his hands under her bra, the heat of his palms making her nipples hard and eager.

"Logan," she pants, pushing back against him, the velvety hardness of his cock sliding up over her tailbone. "Logan, baby, please..." She hears a rustling sound behind her, and looks up to discover she can see his reflection in the mirror over the sink; she watches, enthralled, as he tears a condom packet open with his teeth and pulls out the little roll of latex.

"Hold on, darlin'," he says, voice throaty and gruff. He rolls the condom on, then steps closer to her, stroking the small of her back with one hand as he guides himself to her entrance with the other.

"Logan," she says again, and he looks up - and finds himself looking straight at her reflection in the mirror. "Please," she whispers, her gaze locked to his.

He growls and pushes into her, the force behind the thrust knocking her forward against the sink; she bites her lip and tries not to be too loud, but he's moving so deep and so hard and so fast that she can't help but let a moan or two slip out every few thrusts.

He wraps his arms around her and pulls her up a bit, one hand sliding down between her legs, the other tweaking one aching nipple, his eyes dark and smoldering as he peers over her shoulder at their reflection. "God, Marie, you look so beautiful..." His wicked mouth nips at her ear, heated breath tickling the fine wisps of hair at her nape. "We oughta do this more often... never did you in front of a mirror before... I like watchin' myself fuck you, darlin'... God, the way you look right now..."

"Ah!" she gasps, reaching up over her head to lock her arms around behind his neck. She's panting his name, his hands and mouth and words driving her nearly mad; she twists her fingers in his hair, making him growl, and rocks against him, her eyes fluttering shut.

"No," he whispers, "don't close yer eyes... look at us. Look at me. Look at yerself, and what I'm doin' to ya..."

She manages to get her eyes open again and regards their mirror images, his broad and dark and solid, hers slender and smooth and creamy-skinned, and something deep within her begins to coil up tightly; she shudders and holds onto him, moaning entirely too loudly, but she finds she doesn't give a damn anymore. He stares into her reflection's eyes, and she looks right back at him; the passion in his face, the movement of his hands, the swift, hard thrusts into her that leave her breathless and goosebumped... it's too much.

She begins to tremble, and he's growling in her ear, short, shallow breaths that warm her neck and face. "That's it," he rumbles, increasing his pace, "that's it, darlin', come for me... I'm right with ya..."

She shudders violently and comes, crying his name; his grip on her becomes almost brutally tight, and he slams into her with one final thrust, his growl low and dark and almost inhuman. Her knees give way and she hangs in his embrace, his strong arm wrapped around her ribcage, his other hand gently stroking the russet curls between her thighs.

"Oh, lordy," she sighs, turning her head to kiss the scruffy underside of his jaw. "That was nice."

"Damn right," he answers, and drops a tender kiss on the tip of her nose; he withdraws carefully, wraps the condom in a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, and chucks it into the trash.

Rogue's managed to get her jeans back up, but doesn't seem to have the dexterity to fasten them just yet, so she leans back on the sink and watches him as he wipes himself clean with a bit of tissue and gets dressed again. "That was the only pair."

He looks up, fastening his belt buckle. "Huh?"

"The panties," she clarifies, leaning a little further back. "Those were the only ones Ah bought."

His brows scrunch together in confusion. "Then what...?"

"What happened to the money?" She smiles at him, eyes sparkling with something that looks a lot like mirth to him. 

"Yeah." He tucks his fingers into his pockets, watching her expression.

"You bought us breakfast with it this mornin', remember? Ah bought the panties with mah own money."

He gapes at her for the longest ten seconds ever recorded, then runs a hand through his hair uncomfortably. "I, uh, Jesus, darlin', uh..."

She giggles and kisses him. "It's okay, sugah - you jus' keep makin' it up to me like ya just did, and Ah'll forgive ya right quick."

He reaches down and fastens her jeans for her, then hauls her in for a kiss. "I swear, woman, yer gonna be the death o' me."

She giggles again and opens the door - to find the entire laundromat standing out in the hallway, looking at them. "Oh," she says, and flushes pink all the way up to her hairline. "Umm..."

The small crowd bursts into loud applause, and Rogue wishes the floor would just open up and swallow her whole.

Logan pushes past her, grabs her by the wrist, and guides her through the cheering onlookers, grumbling. He pauses at the laundry table just long enough to stuff the folded clothes into a leather duffel bag, then heads out, hauling her behind him. 

Outside, the sky is gray and dull, the pavement wet and shiny and reflective, and she shivers, thinking of the bathroom mirror.

"You cold?" he asks, strapping the pack down on the motorcycle. 

She wraps her arms around him and holds him close, pushing her hips forward into him. "Do Ah feel cold to you, sugah?"

A slow smile spreads across his face, and he turns away from her to swing a leg over the Harley. "Just might. Better get in close an' hold on tight."

She's more than happy to oblige.

And as they tear down the highway, the cool, drizzly wind in their faces, they each think of the laundromat and wonder about it; her thoughts run mainly to whether or not the patrons were cheering her for making so much noise, or _him_ for being good enough to make her make those noises.

Logan, however, is only thinking one thing: _I **have** to get us a room with a mirror in the next town._

 

END.


End file.
